The Bermuda Triangle is now a pentagon
The Bermuda Triangle of pain is how I refer to this era with my first Mother’s Day without my mother, my first birthday without my mother, and the day Momma passed.
The triangle became a box when I heard Joe Biden has Stage 4 prostate cancer.
My mom was terminally (ugh) online. If she would have read what I’m reading by people who were just experts on Bruce Springsteen last week (note: they did NOT pick up on generational poverty in “The River” is all I’m saying) … she would have felt even worse.
Cancer made her feel dirty. She was embarrassed. Like she fucked up by “catching” it. And these fuckface MAGAts would have only reinforced that.
May they all catch permanent diarrhea.
In any event, my box became a pentagon last night.
I logged into mom’s phone since Samsung threatened to delete her data if it wasn’t accessed soon.
Well that was a roundhouse kick to the head.
“Dawn commented on her post you haven’t seen.”
I mean, I know she hasn’t seen any of my posts for a year. But it hurt seeing it spelled out for me.
I felt like she was in the room with me. Magic supervised me. And I had a memory of her counting with him.
I haven’t ever counted with him. So I did it.
She would count to three. Plenty of 2 1/2 action too. After every number, he says, “Yeah.”
Now, no one has said this to him in a year. But he remembered. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I realized Momma was the love of his life. He’ll never forget her.
As for Snow White’s seven dorks who left messages looking for her, I hope they all figure she hasn’t called or texted back because they are losers.
Anyway, this was so heavy. Is so heavy.
I hope Samsung is satisfied. That five minutes I spent in that phone reminded me I had a whole lifetime with someone and now have a whole lifetime I’m supposed to get through without her.
